


Hide and Seek

by AnnMore



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Modern Setting, Pseudo-Incest, Uncle-Niece Relationship, innocent seduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnMore/pseuds/AnnMore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sweetrobin's birthday party. A little family game of hide-and-seek.<br/>Hiding, seeking and finding.</p><p>A B C D E F G<br/>you are hiding far from me<br/>pitter pat what is that<br/>oh it`s just a pussy cat</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A B C D E F G  
you are hiding far from me  
looking here looking there  
l can`t see you anywhere  
l can`t see you anywhere  
A B C D E F G  
you are hiding far from me  
pitter pat what is that  
oh it`s just a pussy cat  
A B C D E F G  
you are hiding far from me  
looking here looking there  
l can`t see you anywhere

Of course, she was standing there looking and feeling like a fool, too tall, awkward and red as a tomatoe. Of course, she, nearly 16, was way too old to play hide-and-seek, even if it was for Robin’s birthday, and she was certainly willing to grant her sickly and lonely nephew the pleasure. On the other hand, Sansa couldn’t, of course, be too old, when Mr. Baelish, her aunt’s new husband, was also joining in. Mr. Baelish he couldn’t possibly be much younger than her aunt and her mother. He was their childhood friend. To think of it, this was the only thing Sansa knew about the man for certain, and then that he actually looked younger despite the touches of silver in his hair, moved with the lazy souplesse of a dancer and made her blush by walking towards her with a glass of orange juice.  
Arya screeched like a wild animal, jumping around in her inimitable fashion, although one could say that Rickon and Bran, her young brothers, came dangerously close. As did Robin himself and several nameless children, presumably ‘hired’ by his mother to be party guests and pals for Robin. Robin wasn’t known to have friends. She thought she should have strangled Arya this morning, even better yesterday, much better preventively ten years ago, but now it was too late. Mr. Baelish said yes to Arya’s brutal mooching, for whatever reason an adult man, a big-time businnessman, one to be feared (rumours and gossip) would say yes to a family round of hide-and-seek. Anyway, she was framed. ‘You may only use the south gallery, and somebody keep an eye on Robin,’ said Aunt Lysa begrudgingly, but Sansa sensed she was actually quite happy to retire and sleep herself out of a fairly inexcusable amount of her birthday sherry. Sansa had also touched some, it hadn’t made her sleepy, but the thought of a bed and a nap was still a thousand times more attractive to her than the perspective of crawling over endless corridors and getting locked up in smelly wardrobes with a bunch of wild kids. And with Mr. Baelish.  
Mr. Baelish caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. Weirdly enough, she felt relieved. Surely, he wouldn’t allow the adventure to go off the rails, yes, she was quite sure that Mr. Baelish was the kind of man to prevent things go off the rails, or to have things go the right direction, or in any event the course of his liking. She caught herself thinking of an ‘adventure,’ and that was how it suddenly started to feel, a sense of freedom bubbling up in her, one of a bunch of kids going on a discovery trip in a ghost mansion.  
‘We have to choose ‘it’! Who will be ‘it’?’ demanded Arya severely, as if they were in fact electing someone to be sacrificed to ancient gods. Robin reacted accordingly and schrieked out: ‘I don’t want to be ‘it’!’ To this, Rickon objected: ‘No, _I_ don’t want to be ‘it’!’ Bran followed; the rest of the kids clearly didn’t want to play at all, but they had to, probably contractually. Sansa rolled her eyes. No, it wasn’t an adventure after all, it was a stupid hide-and-seek game she was being dragged into by Arya, just like she had always been dragged into all kinds of silly games by Arya, and always regretted it. She turned to Mr. Baelish. Who appeared to be having the time of his life, going by the grin on his face, and Sansa just wanted to scream because the world around her was going mad.  
Aunt Lysa, who was leaving, came up to her husband and embraced him from behind, nuzzling her face into his neck and, by the look of it, whispering something indecent into his ear. She was even more drunk than Sansa first suspected, ‘blotto’, as Arya would have put it succinctly, god knows where she pulled such words from. It was disgusting, Sansa got flushed for the umptieth time tonight, Jesus Christ, the last thing she wanted to see was her aunt groping and forcing herself on her husband…because this was exactly what seemed to be happening, all while Mr. Baelish remained strangely uninvolved. He did smile, but his cattish green eyes, staring directly into hers, didn’t. He didn’t look inclined to intervene either, only vaguely amused like before.  
Right. She had to rely on herself, as always the only Stark child capable of behaving in an adult way.  
‘I will be ‘it’, all right, stop fighting now you all.’ She said in her best big-sister voice and halted the racket. Mr. Baelish laughed. ‘Hold on a bit, Sansa. I will help Lysa upstairs,’ he then asked, and Sansa waited while the gang was fighting to decide on the countdown number. They settled for 50, because their hide-and-seek territory turned out to be huge despite Lysa’s restrictions, a ‘hallway, a staircase, another hallway upstairs, 10 large rooms,’ dixit Robyn. Sansa thought of her own little home, where you were likely to bump into someone at every second step, rendering the ‘hide’ part of the game impossible and the ‘seek’ part unnecessary. ‘Yeah’, she said to herself, actually not regretting. 

Sansa was standing against the wall and counting out loud, as demanded by Robin and Arya. ’46…47…’ She kept to the rules, silly old Sansa as we know her. Of course, they were already long gone, making so much noise that she could probably still locate each of the children by the reverberating echos everywhere they had passed before finding a definite hiding place. It was different with Mr. Baelish. Mr. Baelish walked like a cat, a slender, self-reliant, furtive cat, perfectly acquainted with the game of hiding and seeking.  
She hadn’t heard him approach her minutes after the children had gone hiding. She only felt the little hair on her neck stand up; this had happened to her in his proximity before.  
‘Good luck, Sansa,’ he said.  
She looked back at him. ‘What are you still doing here? I thought you were supposed to be hiding already.’  
‘I am…already, in a way.’ There was humor in his voice she couldn’t pin down.’No, I wanted to give you some clues. In the Purple chamber on the ground floor, there is an antique chest, Robin hides there quite often. The Blue chamber has a walk-in wardrobe, easy. The Red chamber upstairs contains a mini library behind the carpet with a wolf and a bird. I don’t think Robyn knows it though.’  
‘Why are you telling this to me? You’re ruining the game!’ Her complaint was genuine. She threw it at him and saw, for the first time so clearly, the fine lines on his face and around his eyes. The lines on the both sides of his mouth were laugh lines, although she had already noticed that he in fact rarely laughed or smiled; what he did was grinning, in a number of ways: she had already seen him grin scornfully, dismissively...predatorily. But now he was smiling at her, as she thought, conspiringly.  
‘We don’t want the game last too long, do we? Robin gets tired very quickly, and dust is very bad for his longs.’  
‘Ah, yes.’ Sansa nodded. He was right. It was stupid to get so upset about something she didn’t want to do in the first place. It was just that…the game was on…and she was in it, with him.  
‘I must go.’  
‘Are you not telling me where you will be?’  
Suddenly he was whispering into her ear. His warm breath raised every single hair on her skin, red with the surge of blood.  
‘I will just be there, Sansa.’

 

.....

...50.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's POV

Of course, it was the azure blue, knee-lenght thing she was wearing. This, and the fury of her red hair, and the explosion of light that she brought into the room. It was devastating, the little downy hairs on her smooth skin – red, like on her head – and he wants to trace them all over her body with his fingers and his mouth, to dive dive to the junction of her thighs and ascend her Venus mound, nuzzle into the soft down here, biting on the curls and kissing, and soothe her trembling flesh untill she relaxes into the pattern of his stroking.  
It is then when he parts her plump lips just so, almost chastely, and swipes his tongue around the pink bud, engorged, sprouting, but not yet blossoming; he is rewarded with the electrified jolt of her body, but he holds her firmly, he has the milky thighs spread wide open for him to feast on for many nights.  
Boldly now, he pulls her nether lips apart and traces with his tongue the moist furrow of her cunt, she is ripe and plump, her fall is near. He explores the sweet recesses of her, learns the curves, the rises and dips, retraces the path once, twice, renders it to memory for later; oh how he will need it. He has her shiver and moan in severe need, like a wounded animal. She slaps, instinctively, with her knees on his head; no, he won’t have any of that, he travels to her entrance and punishes her like she deserves; he fucks her with the wet tip of his tongue in and out, relentless, swirls inside, having her cunt contract so deliciously; lifts her hips and sweeps his tongue along the perfect curve of her ass, parts her cheeks to kiss the tiny button, to be unlocked for him, he pledges, but not just yet. He teases her there, flat-tongued, roughly, earning another jump and an exasperated cry. Her hands fly into his hair, but is he about to be pulled away, banished? No, she holds him his responsibilities, which is tending to her soaking, sweetly reeking cunt, and he obliges with abandon. He feels her flood nearing swiftly, in the slickness and the glowing heat of her core. What is he to do? Kiss, lick, suckle on her swollen bud, snaking his tongue into the furrow bellow, torture her untill the point of no return, feel goosebumps rise on the skin of her strained thighs and heaving belly. He holds her down, his hands intent to keep her legs wide open and her centre bare and vulnerable for him; he hums into her while she’s surging on a rapturous wave, surging and bursting. He hums, his mouth still clung to her, heady, lapping her up -

He’d indulged in several moments of daydreaming, while maneuvring himself through the train wreck of a birthday party for a spoilt and joyless boy. Sansa would glance over, cautiously, as if sensing double meaning in his most casual attentions of an uncle. The uncle who’d be tasting her on the same couch she’d kept to for the most of the day, her knees clapped demurely together, sipping some juice out a Minnie Mouse beaker; himself and Lysa were having liquor.  
Then he’d fuck her bent on the couch, his balls slapping against her ass, right in front of the present members of the Stark family. The latter mental image made him hiss and clear his focus forcefully lest the party became even more embarrassing than it already was. This is to say, for Sansa; he wasn’t bothered at all, not by the Stark kids from whom he expected little else, nor by Lysa or her annoying brat, and it would surprise Sansa, he thought, just how little he was bothered by Lysa Tully Arryn Baelish. Look Sansa, your aunt will take every bit of my cock I will give her, and I fuck her into the mattress because it’s easy, and she thinks she likes it rough or maybe because she thinks this is how passion looks like, ok, I might have given her that idea, and when I pump her full with my cum, she wails, and you might hear it, sweet Sansa, if you ever sleep in this damn house. I’d like to see your face when you’re listening to it. In fact, tonight, after you’ve left for home, little Sansa, back to your mother whose better copy you are, after I’ve dumped the booze-loaden body of your aunt upstairs, whom you thankfully don’t resemble at all, I will be picturing your lovely face while I jerk myself off to sleep, your rosy cheeks covered in my milky droplets, and your sweet pink tongue lapping them up.

But maybe this is not what is going to happen today.  


X X X X X

The noise burst into the room even sooner than he thought. ‘Good girl,’ he murmured. The kids yelled and ran around bumping into furniture, and he was glad Lysa was snoring upstairs, knocked-out. A tall girlish silhouette walked past, surrounded by a discernible rosy gleam. He heard her admonishing voice bond to fall on deaf ears.  
When he peeped out, Sansa was standing before the fine XVIIth century specimen of Flemish tapestry 'The Wolf and The Mockingbird'. From the sight of is, she was readying herself to look behind it. It is then that he dropped the book he’d been reading – pretending to read – during the wait. The gang jumped into into the direction of the sound, and soon enough, he was discovered behind a silk screen that, he knew, blends perfectly into the background of rich embroiderings in every tint of red, distinctive of the Red Chamber. Robin was triumphant, the other children cheering. ‘Go away, I am the big bad wolf!’ he howled, earning another cheer and a burst of laughter. Sansa looked so clearly disappointed that he was biting down a laugh. So eager to play. But it’s not the children’s game that I want you to learn, Sansa. My game is much more fun for little girls like you.  
…  
Mr. Baelish shouted: ‘Now it’s my turn!’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one will be a short one. More exciting things to come:)

Pouting unbeknowst to herself, Sansa followed the rest to the ground floor; did she manage to get it wrong again? She considered asking, and realized just how ridiculous the whole idea was. Mr. Baelish, were you really hinting me about your secret hiding place? Hmph.  
She looked around searching for Mr. Baelish and discovered, startled, that he and Arya were getting along just fine. Both clad in black, lithe, they were skipping over the treads like two young boys and discussing the latest Xbox games. Her little brothers listened in awe, and she could only conclude that Mr. Baelish, the ruthless businessman, was also a gaming nerd. And she was sauntering behind everyone, tall and awkward, feeling the odd man out, or the elephant in the room, or whatever it is called. How very typical.  
By the time they returned to the living room, Sansa was positively sulking. She knew she was supposed to be a ‘good sport’ and play along just to keep the children entertained, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that, and felt guilty and angry with herself for being, well, such a child. When her uncle touched her elbow, she nearly jumped, absorbed as she was in her misery. His lively eyes searched her face, and Sansa stretched her lips in a smile. Mr. Baelish smiled back and inquired:  
‘How did it go, Sansa?’  
‘Well… like you predicted. Except they were _all_ in the chest.’ She had heard the indignant wails of Robin the very moment she started off, found everyone without searching, told off the kids, fished Robin out of the chest, consoled him and...that was about it. 'Then I found you. _We_ found you.'

He chuckled as if she had said something very funny. Sansa found it necessary to add: 'Robin isn't very well. He shouldn't exert himself much longer.'  
Mr. Baelish regarded his pale and coughing stepson for a long moment - without emotion, Sansa noted, - turned back to her and said very seriously: 'You're a caring girl, Sansa.'  
Sansa blushed three shades of red; coming from anyone else, it would have probably sounded malicious or insulting, but the man looking at her was dead sincere, whatever he meant by that.

'It won't be much longer,' he threw curtly and turned away to clap his hands and anounce the round two.  
Sansa blurted without forethought: 'Will you really just stand there and count till 50?' Somehow this very idea when applied to Mr. Baelish seemed improbable and absurd.

The man eyed her with a small grin on his lips.  
'It is really stupid to cheat when it's unnecessary. Take it from me.' 

'So it's ok to cheat when it's necessary?' She couldn't believe her audacity. Now he was laughing openly, and Arya, who was getting impatient, gave them the hairy eyeball.

'Only when it's necessary, Sansa.'

XXXX

She was convinced there was nothing, and certainly no door behind the carpet when she approached it for the second time that day. For a moment, she examined the embroiderings on the canvas, formed by thick weft threads in rich colours; the whole struck her as exquisite and delicate, as old and expensive. It was Mr. Baelish's taste, she knew her aunt well enough to dismiss her involvement in decorating this part of the house as improbable. Sansa felt the relief of the fabric, the carpet gave in under her fingers, and she realized that it was hung as a curtain. Her heart leaped - the empty space behind the curtain did lead to a door. The door that was not locked. She ascertained that fact by pushing the door open and entering a small, darkened studio, lit by merely one window high on the wall. The room was clearly a library, and the walls, except the one with the window, were covered by bookshelves up to the ceiling. There was a table, an armchair and a simple narrow couch filling the rest of the space not taken up by the books. What also struck her, was just how _cosy_ the place was, how inviting to stay and relax. Sansa took a book, another, made herself comfortable in the armchair and tried to read. Soon enough her eyelids became heavy and she didn't fight it.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa woke up to a soft chuckling, disoriented, but not anxious. The side of her neck she had lain on felt warm and humid with sweat, so she must have slept for at least some time. The dark silhouette at the door was Mr. Baelish, and she realized she had heard a muted click of the lock falling into its place just a moment before.  
'Now, here you are at last, aren't you?'  
Purely instinctively, she straightened herself in the chair to counter what she thought was an accusation:  
'I thought...When you said -'  
He came over and, suddenly, he was sitting on the edge of the chair sideways to her. Conscious of having taken the only sitting surface in the room (aside from the couch), she pulled up her knees to her chest to afford him more place.  
'Yes, and when I said that Robin wasn't aware of the existence of the solar, I meant to keep it that way,' he explained calmly looking at her with his clear, sensible eyes.  
She hadn't heard the word 'solar' before, but what he said made sense. But then...Out of a sudden, she remembered something else:  
'Wait, where's Arya, Bran, everyone?'  
Mr. Baelish raised his brow, pulled his mouth in a pout and summarized dutifully: 'Well, since Arya appreciates my Xbox collection so very much, I take she's having a go at Quantum Break at the moment, or Bran, or Rickon, if they're very lucky, and Arya distracted. Jonah and Wesley are home. Robin's got his potion and is resting in his room.

Vaguely upset, she asked: 'Do they know where I am? Did they come looking for me?'

He let out a chortle: 'Oh they totally forgot you! I think they assumed you weren't that interested in playing anyway.'

It stung. It wasn't supposed to, but it did, mostly because she didn't want to be seen as someone who's routinely ignored and forgotten by family members, even when it's just a stupid children game. Stone-faced, she mumbled: 'Aha, ok.'  
She could clearly feel his full attention focus on her, even with her eyes cast down.  
'What is it, Sansa?' he asked very seriously and very calmly. Sansa looked up, still half-expecting to see his familiar mocking grin, but his expression matched his voice. Whatever she said, she would be listened to, she knew that, but her throat appeared to be locked, only managing to produce a wee squeak. Suddenly, her cheeks felt wet, and she was more embarrassed than ever, weeping in front of an adult man without any identifiable reason.  
'Hush, little one.' His arm came to embrace her shoulders, and she was leaned into his chest, her face cradled in the crook of his neck. It was strange, intoxicating, the smell and the feel of an adult man, his male musk, the fresh scent of of his cologne and the warm solidness of his body, different from Jeffrey's, the only other male body she had experienced this close to hers (but not much closer). It was more disorienting than waking up in an unfamiliar room, but still she wasn't afraid. His hold was soothing as much as it was thrilling.  
Pulling her closer, he breathed into her ear : 'You know, people hate perfection even more than they hate evil.' She understood that perfection referred to her, and objected into his neck: 'I am not perfect.' His warm hand cupped her cheek, guiding her face towards his. 'Yes, you are, sweetling.' The expression in his eyes was unfamiliar to her, searching, questioning her very essence, and she was afraid that he wouldn't find in her what he was looking for and be disappointed. But he wasn't.  
'Do you know how beautitiful you are?' This time he wasn't looking into her, but, emphatically, at her, bowing his head to one side to examine the smallest detail of her. Beautiful? She knew this about herself, but somehow it was an abstract knowledge she saw reflected in other people's appraisal of her, mostly in a negative way through the jealousy of the other girls, but it was not really connected to her own experience of her body. Most of the time she simply felt tall and clunky. Sometimes people's fantasies reflected upon her without her response from inside.  
'Yes?' She half-asked herself and shrugged, indicating she wasn't sure. 'Has anybody told you that?' Sansa blushed, returning his look through her eye-lashes. The man interpreted this correctly. 'Is there a boy, Sansa?' he asked softly. 'Who is so stupid not to tell you how beautiful you are?' Sansa bit her lip, squinting. 'Not...like this.'  
'How then?' Sansa's nerves were strung tight, nearly knacking; her eyes flashed to his lips. The man took the cue, not the way she expected, not that she expected anything in particular, at least not consciously; her body was a different kind of beast. He closed the distance between their faces and planted a kiss on her mouth; a chaste one. 'Like this?' he inquired. 'No,' she whispered, wide-eyed. It was true, the times Joffrey kissed her, he made a point of brutally sticking his tongue into her mouth without any prelude, merely provoking her gag reflex and nausea without much else. Some of these memories surely were reflected on her face, going by the amused expression in his eyes. She closed her eyes, in nervous anticipation, when he leaned towards her again. His lips felt soft upon hers, the pressure increasing with each gentle movement, pleasurably so, and she surrendered to his probing and tasting mouth. 'Not like this?' 'No.' Her answer was sure and loud now. He smiled, smug, and continued his assault, his pace unrelenting, yet unhurried. She forgot completely how uneasy she was about granting access to his tongue, given her past experiences. As it happened, her own tongue was begging to be let in, chasing his hungrily in his mouth, biting him in her novice's fervor, earning his satisfied chuckle. Cradling her head between his hands, he placed open-mouthed kisses all over her face and under her jaw, intent on travelling lower. Into her ear, he breathed: 'I will teach you how to be beautiful. For me.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude.

Perfect. She was perfect, pure and fifteen, and she was made to fit him like a glove, both her mind and her cunt. Just to think she could have happened upon someone unworthy, stupid, squanderous of her treasures. The boy didn't count. Boys never do, but this one in particular. He knew Cersei's bastard better than it was good for his appetite, and the little whorefucker couldn't even scratch her surface. Even if he had fucked her, - and he hadn't, and will never have now, - he would have left her as much as intact. A girl pierced on a cock is but a wee squirmy thing, an absolute beginner. Oh Sansa, how much I wil have to learn you. I will have you torn open, gasping, needy, and I will fill you with myself. Heavens rejoice, Kat, I will have the daughter I never had.


	6. Chapter 6

'Shall I tell you what I like most?' A slow nod, a swallow.  
Her throat is porcelain, thinniest blue veins, an angrily beating pulse. Her pulse would hitch and shoot to panicky heights at the feel of the silk cord, pulled up sharply under her jaw, cutting her breath; a glorious sight. This is not what he tells her. He walks his fingers over the hollow at the base of her throat, wraps them loosely around it, carefully pushes her back to lay her head against the backrest. The fingers repeat their ticklish path, raising shivers on her skin. 'This,' he says. 'I like this.'  
She watches him from under hooded eyelids, in an apparent daze; her arms lie helpless at her sides. 'This,' he says then, drawing a line along her delicate collarbones, the finger dipping into the hollow, already familiar to his touch. Undoes a tiny pearly button of her blouse, the first in the row. 'You know, I even like your buttons.' This elicits a faint smile on her lips. 'I just don't like them tight.' At this, he goes on to loosen the entire row, leaving her blouse gaping.  
The tender swells of her breasts in a simple white cotton bra, still partly covered by the blouse, is the purest thing he ever saw. That's why what he does is so delicious. Kissing her nipples through the fabric is good enough to make him semi-hard; not good enough. Now, pull down the white cotton to expose her right nipple, a tiny inverted bud, never touched with lust. Tease it out of hiding with the cushion of your finger, pinch it, tweak it with your thumb, ignore her whimpering. Go hard sucking on a little girl's teat, - they are never the same when she's ripe to feed, - free the other one, lick, suckle, bite, alternate. Push them together, two peaking hills, lick them over with your flattened, harsh tongue, make her plead. Ignore her pleads. Look down at her, flushed from head to toe. Look at her short-breathed, bare-chested, your saliva glinstening on her reddened, swollen nipples, molded by your mouth into two stone-hard peaks. Tell her:  
'I do like it, Sansa. I really do. Do you?'

It is a hot feverish dream, and it is real. The girl on the couch - for what he wants to do with her, she needs to lie down - is real, and she is made of feverish, trembling flesh. Her eyes are closed, her thin fingers groping for his hair, for his shoulders, his back. Just minutes before, when he settled between her half-bent legs, she was a little, scared red-haired animal. He cherishes the moment, the girl will never fear and lust a man - him, only him, - so purely, so sharply. He pledges to never hurt her, unless to give her pleasure. But now she has to be eased into him, to be taught his body, to learn his needs, his claims, his rewards.  
Her belly is a milky way. He will come on her belly, on her thighs, on her breasts in angry spurts, some time in the future, when their lovemaking is leisure. Now it's desperate, limited in time. A kid can be coming their way any time, he did his best to sop everyone up, but he's learned to anticipate the worst. Truth to be said, he's always ended up on the winning side . Like now, having the virgin daughter of Kat spread her legs before his hungry eyes and for his wrathful cock. It was a Buck hunting knife back then, in the bar, and a young boy. Now it's his prick, insurgent, full of bad blood. And the little girl Sansa.  
I'll be rough, triumphant once I'm inside you, Sansa. Not yet. Not now, when you're such a little scared, red-haired animal, eating out of my hand. A girl pierced on a cock for the first time is but a wee squirmy thing. 

And I will be tender, Sansa.


	7. Chapter 7

Her skin was burning. It was strange that touches so pleasurable came with a promise of pain, as if these two sensations were interchangeable.  
She barely had experience to go by, but she recognized what the man did with her as experimenting, as teasing out of her body the reactions he wanted to hear, to see, to feel. To taste. He was probing, sampling her, and it was a shock how much she liked it. Surely she was supposed to enjoy to be pulled into a whirl of passion, swept off her feet, but the languorous travel of his tongue and lips over the tips of her breasts was a tentative, exploratory one; he was discovering her. She couldn't contain her moans any longer, giving him that satisfaction.  
The eyes staring up at her were very dark, impenetrable, unresponsive. It was pure male lust, and she felt another surge of heat cursing through her. Emboldened, she shrugged her blouse wide open with a careless motion, arched her back, pushing out her breasts for him. She felt a complete wanton, presenting herself like this, the traces of his bits visible, her erect nipples pointing into the air. 'Fuck, Sansa,' he cussed in a strained, strangely quiet voice, as if she had touched a bare nerve.  
Her blush at the swear word only spurred him further on, it was clear from his face, and she couldn't say that at that moment she wasn't scared. Mr. Baelish - suddenly he was Mr. Baelish again - placed a surprisingly heavy, warm hand on her belly to calm her, achieving rather the opposite. 'I do like it, Sansa, I really do. Do you? Or do you want me to stop?'  
His handpalm radiated enough heat to burn a hole through her body, as did his gaze, and the question became redundant even before he spoke out the last word of it. But she let him wait; just when he was about to withdraw his hand, she threaded small fingers through his longer, stronger ones and and invited them to cover her breast. She said: 'No, I don't want you to stop,' giddy to hear herself speak so boldly.  
'God, you are so beautiful,' he whispered, more to himself than to her, leaning in take her lips in a demanding kiss. His mouth attacked hers from different angles and at dizzying pace. Just as the first time they kissed, she found it difficult to keep up; her hands fled to the sides of his head to steady him somewhat. Breaking contact, the man smiled into her lips; after that he went through the motions again, slowly, as if they were learning a dance: a nip at the lower lip, sucking it in, running his tongue along the contours of her lips, coaxing the lips apart, sneaking his tongue into her mouth, caressing her tongue with his, giving her time to reciprocate. To learn the skill. Soon she was devouring his mouth as if she had done nothing more in her life, moaning loud at the feel of him rubbing, teasing her breasts; his hands felt rough against her skin, pleasurably so. Sansa writhed in frustration, instinctively seaking more skin-on-skin contact. Wearing clothes was becoming unbearable. Sitting was becoming unbearable.  
Wringing herself out of his embrace, Sansa pulled herself up, resettled herself on the chair to kneel before him and hooked her arms around his neck. The reddened mouth, which had learned her to kiss and to bite, grinned widely. He lifted her up by her waist surprisingly easily, shifted himself to her place and landed her on his lap with her knees at either side of his thighs.  
They got rid of her blouse promptly, and of her bra which was hung uselessly around her middle. When she reached for the buttons of his black shirt, she was halted. Smiling slyly, the man pulled her flush against himself, letting the smooth, cool fabric spark shivers on her heated skin. Although she was not sure it was the shirt that gave her the shivers. His insistent mouth had found a sensitive spot at the juncture of her throat and her chest, his hands were caressing her hips, her spine, holding her near. When she lowered herself on him one last inch, they both tensed. His hardness hit her nether lips, the man hissed, and Sansa felt heady and bold. She brushed her pussy over the lenght of him, once, twice, her lower body on fire. She recognized the feeling, touching her pussy sometimes made her gasp and shudder, but she always stopped on the verge of something she couldn't quite fathom. And now she was on the verge, on the verge of breaking, snapping, understanding everything at once.  
Suddenly she realized that his black eyes, the pupils enormously dilated, were staring directly into hers, greedily, with devilish curiosity. It felt devious to rub herself against him, to feel him buck up into her, and communicate him every new, heady sensation arising in her body, with her look. It was delicious. She was moving with a new-found smooth rhythm that felt natural to her hips, but stuttered when his hand stole itself between them and pulled the thin, sopping fabric aside. Wet, she was dripping wet, and that was missing in her previous endeavours, she realized.  
Sansa whined and jerked at the feel of his finger between her painfully swolled lips, pressing on the point there that felt as if it were connected to live electricity. They slowed down the hip movement while he was easing her into the new sensation. He stilled her whine by letting her bite on his thumb thrust between her teeth; it felt just right to suck on his thumb while undulating her hips to the rhythm of his hand between her legs. Just when she thought her body was about to explode, the man stopped, and she whined again in frustration, letting go of his thumb.  
Wide-eyed, he watched him unbuckle his belt, unzip himself, pull down his underwear, just enough for her to see the pubic hair and his straining, angrily red member, still partly sheathed within his trousers. Her mouth produced an uncomprehensible sound, but the man hushed her softly. Softly, his hands pulled her back to place, and she gasped when her pussy made contact with his cock, smooth and hard at the same time, and so very hot. His insistent hands prompted her hips to start moving. Incredulous, she looked down to the place where their bodies joined, the purple head of his cock coming into the sight and disappearing. 'I like it very much, Sansa. Oh god, how I like it,' he whispered. 'Do you like it?' She nodded. They were moving together now, watching each other, breathing heavily into each other's mouth. 'Good girl,' he managed between two breaths.


End file.
